Life Interrupted
by MizJoely
Summary: Sherlolly AU. After a drunken night with a boy whose name she never got, uni student Molly Hooper finds herself pregnant. Ten years later, she finds herself face to face with the father of her child. Will they manage to reconnect or will the discovery of his child drive Sherlock Holmes away? Read and find out! (Hint, if you've read any of my stuff you know the answer!)
1. Busy Making Other Plans

By the time 22-year-old Molly Eleanora Hooper realized she was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it. Far too late for a Morning After pill, too late for an abortion, too late for anything except keep it or give it up. She was nearly five months along and her father had been in the ground for three of them before she finally realized her missed periods weren't due to stress, that her lack of appetite and tiredness weren't entirely depression-related.

If she'd known the name of her baby's father, she'd have gotten in touch with him and let him know. If she knew anything about him other than that he had lovely dark curls and eyes that reminded her of the ocean – an ever-changing mixture of blue and green with tiny amber flecks – and cheekbones to die for, that he was studying chemistry at one of the universities in London and smoked more than just cigarettes, she might have had something more to go on. But she'd known hardly anyone at the party, had been standing alone at the foot of the stairs with her third vodka tonic in a red plastic cup, and he'd come up behind her and deduced pretty much everything about her, from the reason she was standing apart from the crowd to her recent break up with her last – well, technically her only – long-term boyfriend, and she'd turned and seen him and her only thought had been, _Fuck it, Molly – go for it._

So she had. She'd leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, ignoring the lingering scent of marijuana – who was she to judge? – for once in her life not fretting over consequences. His mouth had opened beneath hers, his tongue had eagerly lashed against hers, and at some point she'd completely lost track of her red plastic cup as they began groping one another right there on the stairs.

Things could have gone so differently, she reflected as she stared numbly down at the pregnancy test with its bright blue plus sign. Someone had come clattering down the stairs, muttering, "Get a room, Jesus you two!" before squeezing by them. She could have taken that moment to break away from his arms, murmured an excuse and made her escape. Done the right thing, the smart thing, but the lazy smile on his face as he tilted his head and flicked his eyes upward in a definite question had done something to her, temporarily caused her to abandon common sense and doing the right thing and caused her to nod her response before slipping her hand into his and allowing him to tug her up the stairs to an unoccupied bedroom.

So here she was five months later, a medical student about to enter the pathology program, paying for that lapse in judgment and suddenly pregnant. Well, not suddenly, nearly five months along, but it still took her by surprise. Even seeing the results of the pregnancy test (a very definite positive) still couldn't entirely cement the reality in her mind. How could this have happened? She was on the pill, she wasn't promiscuous; Christ, it had only been once! And he'd worn a condom, hadn't he? The details were hazy, but she was pretty sure she'd insisted on it and that he'd complied without a murmur. Yes, she remembered now; she'd dug it out of her purse, a leftover from her relationship with Tom Higgins…and proceeded from there to have the best sex she'd ever had in her life, drunk or sober, bar none.

As soon it was over, however, she'd panicked, grabbed her clothes, gabbled something about having to go, and bolted as soon as she was half-way decent, knickers stuffed into her purse, shoes in one hand, stockings in the other. She'd met no one she knew, although a few of the blokes gave her some knowing smirks and a few of the girls gave her some disapproving scowls (jealous cows, had been her thought at the time, even in her panic). She'd made her way back to her flat and immediately passed out.

The next morning, before she could begin to process what she'd done and who she'd done it with (how could she have had sex with a guy who was obviously high, no matter how gorgeous – _and not even get his name!_), her mobile had rung. It had been her mother calling with the grim news about her dad's prognosis. It was the beginning of the summer break and the end of Molly's life as she'd known it.

She didn't wait to call her mother; still sitting on the cold tile floor of her dorm bathroom, she laid down the pregnancy test and dug her mobile out of her pocket and pressed the speed dial. As soon as her Mum answered, Molly blurted out the devastating news. "Mum, I'm so sorry. I'm pregnant."

There was a moment's silence on the other end before her mother responded. "Are you sure, honey?"

Molly glanced at the discarded test, fighting an urge to burst into hysterical laughter. "Oh yeah, pretty sure. Actually, very sure."

Karen Hooper sighed softly, and Molly squeezed her eyes shut, picturing her mother's disappointment and bracing herself for her next words. "Well, dear, have you talked to Tom about it…oh, sorry!" she exclaimed, interrupting herself. "You broke up with him ages ago, I'm sorry, darling, I forgot…wait, you haven't said anything about a new boyfriend? Who's the father?"

"It's a boy I met at a party. Right before…right before you called to tell me about Dad."

Another long silence as her mother processed Molly's words. "Darling, that was…that was five months ago! Sweetheart, why did you wait so long to tell me? Oh, honey…"

Molly broke in to explain how she'd missed the signs, how she'd dismissed them as emotional symptoms rather than what they actually were. "So anyway, Mum, I guess I'll be coming home soon." Her throat started to close up and the tears she'd been fighting fell as she struggled to get the next words out. "I—I'm so sorry, Mum, I can't believe I disappointed you and Dad like this! I'll…I'll find a job and try to f-find a place on my own to live as soon as I…"

"Molly Eleanora Hooper," her mother broke into her unhappy babbling, her voice as sharp as Molly had ever heard it. "What are you going on about? You're talking as if you're going to give up your education!"

"But Mum, what else can I do?" Molly sniffed, rubbing her hand across her nose. She shifted her phone to her other hand and reached up to blindly grope for the box of tissues sat on the back of the toilet. "In four months I'll have a baby to take care of, I can't finish my programme and take care of a baby and get a job and…"

Karen once again cut through her daughter's welling panic. "We'll figure it out. Come home for the week, darling, never mind your classes for now." Her mother sounded quite firm, not at all emotional or angry, certainly nowhere near as upset as Molly had expected her to sound. "Come home, charge the train ticket to my credit card – you have the numbers, right?" Molly nodded, then squeaked out a yes as her mother continued speaking. "Come home, Molly. We'll sit down together and we'll make up a plan. You get in touch with this boy so he knows what's…"

Oh God. The worst part, she still hadn't told her mother the worst part. Molly felt positively sick as she whispered, "I don't even know his name, Mum, or which university he goes to. I'm sorry, please don't hate me, I…"

"Darling, I love you," her mother interjected softly. "Come home. Right now. We'll work things out. Your father wouldn't want you working yourself up over this, and neither do I. Just…just come home," she said, and Molly found herself agreeing without further demur.

Her mother had always been a rock, always available for her two daughters and her husband, always putting their needs first but always so cheerful about it that it was obvious that was what made her happiest. It didn't alleviate Molly's raging guilt one small bit, but she did find comfort in the fact that her mother hadn't screamed at her or thrown blame or done any of the other horrible but justified things she could have said or done in the course of such a conversation.

No, Karen Hooper had been exactly what Molly needed: a loving mother reaching out to comfort her child.

Molly just hoped that, no matter what else the future might bring, she would be as good a mother to her own child as hers was to her.


	2. Expect The Unexpected

**Ten Years (and Four Months) Later**

"William Henry Hooper! What are you doing here?"

Molly Hooper, youngest pathologist on staff at St. Bartholomew's Hospital (newest as well, having only worked there for six months, fresh out of medical school), stood in the morgue and glared at her son. Who looked back at her calmly, as if there was nothing he should be upset or ashamed of, showing up at his mother's place of employment when he should be in school. "Well? Explain yourself, young man!" she said sternly, folding her arms across her chest as she studied him.

He was tall for his age, her William – named after his grandfather and usually called Wills, unless, like today, he was in trouble. He had the Hooper eyes – brown and round – but his other features were purely those of his father, from the unruly dark curls to the sharp cheekbones to the aristocratic nose and long length of neck with its prominent 'freckle mole' as her sister had dubbed it when Wills was brought home from hospital. "Mum, you said he was coming in today, Sherlock Holmes." His eyes shone with excitement as he stepped away from the autopsy table he'd been leaning against – which was thankfully clean and unoccupied – and grinned at her. "I want to meet him. Just five minutes, that's all, then I'll go back to school." He scowled, then tried another grin, this one hopeful. "Unless you think I should just go straight home instead?"

She shook her head and scowled right back at him, not taken in for one second by his lightning quick changes of mood and expression. "No. You are going to march right around and get back on the Tube – I assume you took the Tube? – and go back to school." She fished her mobile out of her pocket. "I'll ring the headmistress right now and explain that you're on your way, and if you're very lucky, I might even make it sound as if it's my fault so you won't spend too long in detention this time."

Her son was precociously intelligent, a real handful, and had been since day one. He'd arrived six weeks early and been habitually late for almost everything ever since then. Molly felt as if she'd been chasing after him her entire life instead of just for the past ten years, and she knew her mother and sister – both of whom had helped raise him while Molly finished her education – felt the same.

She also knew that, like her, they wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. Although today she was annoyed enough to wonder what it would be like to ship him off to boarding school until he was old enough to go to uni.

He dashed to her side and tugged at her wrist, looking up at her – and not that far up! – beseechingly. "Please, Mum, please! His website is wicked, it's so amazing, you know it, I've told you and showed you, you just have to let me meet him! Please! I promise I won't get into trouble at school for the rest of the semester, I'll finish all my homework and my chores and I won't even show up Louisa at music practice if you just let me stay and meet him! Please?"

If any other child had made such outrageous sounding promises, Molly would have taken them with a grain of salt – or ten. But her son took things like promises and vows very seriously; if he said he would stay out of trouble and do his homework and chores and even behave himself when he and his cousin were at their violin lessons, he meant it. He'd do it, too, no matter how tempted he might be to 'forget' or let it slip his mind.

He could see the hesitation in her eyes and clearly took it to mean he'd won. "Thanks, Mum! This'll be brilliant, I can't wait!" He practically danced away from her side and plopped onto one of the lab stools, spinning it round to face her again as a grin the size of Buckingham Palace threatened to split his face in two. "I won't be a pain, I promise; just five minutes and I'll go back to school."

Molly sighed, but she wasn't quite ready to fully capitulate. "You also have to promise me you won't ever do anything like this again, William," she said sternly. "I want your word, right now, or no deal."

She waited while he stuck his lower lip out in a pout, reminding him forcefully of his father in that instant, a man she hadn't seen in over ten years. His image had faded a bit over time, but he'd left such a vivid impression that even now she could summon up the exact color of his eyes, the expression on his face as he orgasmed…

She hoped none of her wandering thoughts showed on her face (although she could feel the flush on her cheeks and hoped her son would chalk it up to her being in a temper) as she watched her Wills, the product of that union, give her a solemn nod. "I promise, Mum." Then his grin returned and he jumped off the stool, racing up to give her an enthusiastic hug. "Thanks!"

She returned the hug, then slipped her mobile back into her lab coat's pocket, mentally reminding herself to call the headmistress and try to smooth things over just as soon as Wills met his idol. In the meantime, she had another call to make, one that was going to be just as difficult, she imagined, as the call to Mrs. Witherspoon. "I just have to call my boss, Wills, and explain things. He's bringing Mr. Holmes round in a few minutes, so you just stay on that stool…" She pointed to the one he'd just vacated... "and wait for me to…"

The sound of the door opening behind her caused Molly to spin around, and she bit her lip nervously as the very man she was about to call bustled into the room. He stopped short at the sight of her son, his eyes gone wide in an expression of (to Molly's mind) highly exaggerated surprise. "Who is…Molly? Is that…your son?"

Molly nodded; Mike hadn't met William yet, of course, but she'd talked about him endlessly. She hadn't been so rude as to bombard Dr. Stamford with pictures, since she hated it when people did that to her, but the almost comical expression of shock on his face was really too much; was he deliberately exaggerating his reactions for some reason? Was this his way of expressing his disapproval? Well, nothing to it but to wade in with explanations. "I'm sorry, Mike, but he just showed up. He wants to meet Mr. Holmes, and I hope you don't mind, but since he's already here…"

Mike started and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, Sherlock," he said vaguely, then shook his head and stared at William. "Why didn't you tell me? My goodness, the resemblance, it's quite uncanny…"

Before Molly could ask Mike what the heck he was talking about, the door behind him opened, and a tall, thin figure clad in a dramatic black Belstaff, wearing a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, swept into the room. "Ah, Stamford, here you are. Sorry, I was stopped by that annoying…"

Molly could feel the blood rushing from her face, just as she could feel the sudden pounding of her heart in her chest as she took in the unexpected sight of the man who had come to a stop directly in front of her. Those eyes, those cheekbones, the hair…it was him, the boy from uni. He was Sherlock Holmes, whose picture she'd never seen, who had no photos of himself posted on his website, the consulting detective and deductive genius her son idolized…He was William's father.

She was dizzy, or was it the room that was suddenly swaying around her? She opened her mouth to say something – what, she wasn't sure – then closed it as her vision darkened and her knees gave out beneath her and for the first time in her life, Molly Hooper collapsed in a dead faint.

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing, you really make my day!_


	3. Come Talk To Me

_A/N: Wow, I am just overwhelmed at all the positive things you all are saying about this story! I should say here that the original idea came to my mind a while ago, after first reading Petra Todd's marvelous "When the Sun Stands Still" - she totally inspired the "unilock not knowing Sherlock's name" vibe, and many thanks to her for writing such awesome stories! Aside from that I own nothing else but Wills and the remainder of the plot. Oh, and Karen and the other member's of Molly's family. And I'm very glad people liked my version of Molly's mum. She's often depicted in a less friendly light, and although my first impulse was to go there, I thought it would be nice to have her be a supportive and loving Mum this time round. :) Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, with Molly and Sherlock's first face-to-face after ten-plus years._

* * *

Molly woke up in a bed. A hospital bed. She sat up, then promptly lay back down as her head spun dizzily.

"Take it easy, Molly, you've had a bit of a shock." Mike Stamford, her boss, leaned over her, peering down at her with an expression of warm concern on his round face. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he absentmindedly pushed them back up with one finger as he peered into her eyes. "Pupils are dilating normally, your breathing is regular, heartbeat's a bit elevated but that's to be expected, and your color looks a bit better, but I'd like you to stay in bed for a bit until we're sure you're all right." He helped her into a sitting position, then handed her a glass of water. She drank thirstily from it before handing it back to him, annoyed that her hands were shaking. And ice cold; symptoms of shock, of course, she recognized them, but the memory of what the shock actually was currently eluded her.

After she'd leaned back against the pillow, Mike's words finally registered, and she looked at him with a puzzled expression. "We?" she asked, then allowed her gaze to wander around the room. It took her a moment to recognize it; the small break room sandwiched between the morgue and the ladies' loo. "Did I pass out?" she asked, feeling more than a bit fuzzy in the memory department.

Mike nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid you did. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances…"

"Where's Wills?" she interrupted him as memory came flooding back, bringing with it a touch of panic. "Is he all right?"

Mike smiled and nodded, but pressed gently on her shoulder with one hand until she subsided against the pillows. "He's fine, he's with Sherlock…uh, his father, I suppose I should say."

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. So she hadn't been hallucinating after all. "Sherlock Holmes. The consulting detective my son's been idolizing ever since he discovered his website last year. That's his name. After all these years," she muttered, half to herself, but of course Mike was right there, listening to every word. Her eyes opened and she gave him a weak smile. "Well, now you know my sordid little secret. I had a one-night stand in uni with a boy whose name I didn't even know and ended up pregnant with no way to get in touch with him. I hope you don't hold my lack of morals against me now; I promise, I didn't do anything else even remotely as stupid when I was a student. My test grades are all my own…"

"Of course, I never even considered such a thing," Mike replied soothingly, and Molly realized she'd been babbling. But she was still disoriented, still shocked that a man she never thought she'd see again would come strolling back into her life so casually. "You said Wills is with Sherlock…are they…what are they doing?"

"Talking," Mike replied simply. "After Sherlock swooped in and stopped you from hitting your head on the floor – moves like a bloody cobra striking, that man," he interrupted himself with a good-natured grumble, "even though I was closer, he still got to you before me." He grinned to show no hard feelings, that he was rather laughing at himself than resenting being shown up, and Molly grinned back, although there was almost no wattage to her smile. Not yet. God, Sherlock Holmes, her son's father, was talking to Wills. But what, she wondered in sudden panic, was he saying? Surely he wouldn't be so unkind as to disparage her to her son's face…but no, Mike would never have left the two of them alone if Sherlock was that kind of man, would he? "Don't worry, Molly," he said gently, as if reading her confused and conflicting emotions in every flicker of her eyelids. "They seem to be hitting it off quite well. Shall I call them in, or at least William? Do you feel up to it?"

She nodded and sat up, refusing to lie down a second longer, but obediently remaining on the cot. "Of course, and Mike, I'm so sorry…I never meant to cause so much drama, I promise!"

He laughed and patted her on the shoulder in an avuncular manner. "Not to worry, Molly; I'm used to drama when Sherlock is around! Well," he added as he smile dimmed a bit, "perhaps nothing quite so…domestic in nature. Oh, and I've called in Sanjay to cover your shift for the rest of the day." He shushed her attempts at a protest. "You've had a shock, Molly. You need some time to recover. And I've already approved your leave for the rest of the week. To give you time to sort things out. Come back on Monday if you feel you're ready, or let me know if you need more time."

"If you're trying to cinch the nomination for boss of the year, Mike, it's in the bag," Molly called out as he headed for the door. He turned to wink at her in a conspiratorial manner, and she smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you," she said, meaning it and wishing she had the words to fully express how grateful she was to him for being so understanding.

She lay back and contemplated the ceiling as she tried to rearrange her life to fit the new facts that had been so ruthlessly dumped on her today. Fact One: she now knew the identity of William's father. Fact Two: He just happened to be a man her son already worshiped. Fact Three: He knew Molly's boss, Mike Stamford, well enough for Mike to personally escort him to meet Molly. Fact Four: He was just as devastatingly handsome as he'd been when she first met him ten year previous. Same catlike blue-green eyes, same gorgeous cheekbones, same incredible jawline and unruly dark curls – slightly shorter now than they'd been that night – same intensity…

"Fuck," she said aloud. Apparently her libido had decided to restart itself with his reappearance in her life. Just what she needed.

"Isn't that what brought us to this moment in the first place?"

Molly started at the unexpected sound of his voice – Sherlock's voice – coming from the vicinity of the door. She'd (almost, not really) forgotten just how deep and shiver-inducing it was. She sat up and watched as he entered the room, his expression somewhere between humorous and cautious, and she supposed her own was probably a bit like a deer in the headlights, but honestly, what did he expect from her? Making jokes like that, after ten years apart and having their reunion be so bizarrely momentous that it felt like a punch line to some cosmic joke mere mortals like them weren't privy to?

"Um, yeah, well, I…I was on the pill," she blurted out, feeling her cheeks heating although she wasn't entirely sure why. She told herself she wasn't _embarrassed_, for God's sake; the embarrassing moment, if it could be called that, had happened over ten years ago!

Sherlock nodded. "I know. I saw the packet sticking out of your handbag," he added as he came further into the room. "That night. When you were pulling out the condom. Doubly protected, yet still…" He trailed off as if unsure what to say, and Molly wordlessly indicated the chair by her bed, a silent invitation to continue the fumbling, uncomfortable conversation that was sure to follow if he stayed.

He hesitated only briefly before closing the door behind him and taking the offered seat. "Your son…our…William is with Mike," he said, shrugging out of his coat and allowing it to fold itself over the back of the chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave Molly a searching look, no doubt deducing her as her son had more than once described from Sherlock's – his father's – blog. She remained silent, patiently waiting for him to finish, or say something.

Just when she thought he'd fallen into a trance, he blinked and leaned back. "You've never married," he said, his voice curiously neutral, his expression giving nothing away. "Nor ever brought home a serious boyfriend since…for as long as William can remember," he amended. Molly raised an eyebrow; apparently Sherlock and her son – _their_ son, dammit, why was this so hard? – had had quite the conversation already.

"And we live in our own flat but spend most of our free weekends at my mum's house in Chelsea or at my sister and her husband's place in Belgravia," Molly said, willingly giving up the information, knowing that if he was half the deductive genius he was credited with being, he would find everything out anyway. If Wills didn't tell it all to him first, that is. "How is he? Wills, I mean," she added as Sherlock gave a confused squint (coupled with a rather adorable nose wrinkle…_focus, Molly!_). "How did he…was he worried about me?" She moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed, dislodging the blanket the covered her. Sherlock reached out and grabbed it before it hit the floor. "I should go…" Molly made a vague gesturing motion toward the door, but Sherlock, intuiting her intentions, shook his head.

"He wants us to talk first," he said, lips curling in what looked (at least, to Molly's inexperienced eyes) like an affectionate grin. "He said to tell you that we should take as long as we like, he'll be fine until after."

Molly let out an exasperated huff and leaned back against her pillows. "Of course he would, he knows the longer this takes the less chance there'll be that he'll have to go back to school today."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, giving her an odd look. "Under the circumstances, I imagine him returning to school would accomplish very little."

"Oh, yeah, right," Molly was forced to agree. If she'd been thinking straight, she never even would have suggested such a thing. Still, she was his mum and the need to speak to him, right now, to know that he was okay, overcame her. Murmuring a soft "excuse me for a moment" she pulled her mobile out of her lab coat pocket and hit Wills' speed dial.

He answered after only one ring, his voice an excited gabble. "Mum! You're all right, I know you are cause Dr. Stamford said so. Sher—uh, he told me it was okay to call him Sherlock, I know I should call him Mr. Holmes and be respectful, but he's my dad and he says it's too soon to call him that and he's totally right and isn't this wicked, Mum? Isn't it the most amazing thing ever? He talks to me like I'm not just a kid, Mum, and he's so…anyway," Wills said, taking a breath but not really pausing long enough for his mother to interject a single word, "I just want you two to talk, okay? Please? Then come and get me after? I promise I'll behave, you know I will, and Dr. Stamford said I could wait in his office and I have my phone and my school stuff and…"

This time Molly didn't wait for him to take a breath, she simply cut him off, knowing that at this level of excitement (and nervousness; she could hear the underlying nervousness in her son's voice, nervousness at finally meeting the father he'd never known and never thought he _would_ know), he was unlikely to stop until forced to take another breath. "Wills! It's all right, yes, as long as you…look," she said, taking a deep breath of her own and watching Sherlock out of the corner of her eye. He'd sat back and crossed his legs, his hands clasped over his raised knee and looking as cool and composed as she knew she looked flustered and nervous. "Yes, you can wait in Dr. Stamford's office, and make sure you tell him I said thank you. Your fa…uh, Sherlock and I are…we're talking, I don't know how long we'll be, but you and I will talk after, if that's really what you want."

She waited, giving him the opportunity to change his mind, knowing as she did that her often stubborn son rarely looked back once he'd reached a decision. "No, Mum, it's okay," he said, and she could _hear_ the grin in his voice. "I'll see you later. Whenever. I have money for lunch and everything," he added, addressing a concern she'd neglected in her mental discombobulation. Some mother she was, forgetting her only child's needs just because his biological father turned up out of the blue – and was actually one of her son's heroes!

An old saying about not meeting your heroes because they were sure to disappoint drifted through her mind like a warning, but she ignored it for now. In the short term Sherlock had lived up to every expectation her son had ever had – no, exceeded them. Who knew what the long term would bring?

That, she resolved as she told William she loved him and hung up the phone, was one of the things she was determined to find out. If not during this conversation, than during whatever conversations the future might bring.


	4. Getting to Know You

_A/N: I know I keep saying this, but I am absolutely overwhelmed at the response this story is getting! Thank you everyone for reviewing and reading and following and all that! Not that this isn't already an AU, but I'm messing around with the timeline a bit, having Sherlock meet Molly (for the second time) after he and John are already flatmates, cause I wanted John in this story. Not even gonna apologize. Also, the conversation is a bit rambling and disjointed, but I figured a real conversation of this nature would be as well, so I left it as is. If there are any gaping holes or contradictions, feel free to drop me a PM so I can fix it, thanks!_

* * *

Molly looked over at Sherlock again, giving him her full attention. But before she could ask her first question – how did he feel about being so unexpectedly presented with a ten-year-old son he'd never known about – he spoke first. "He's very bright."

She smiled proudly. "Yeah, I know. I should probably have him in more advanced classes – he's especially good at chemistry and maths, did he tell you? – but I want him to stay with kids his own age."

"Does he…get on well with them? The other kids, I mean?" Sherlock asked, sounding a bit wistful. Molly wondered if his own childhood had been difficult or lonely.

"Oh, yes, he's one of the most popular kids in his class," she said. "Sometimes he's a bit too popular, if you know what I mean; spends more time chatting up his mates than he should, gets a bit, um, high-spirited, but he's a good boy and doesn't get into _too_ much trouble."

Apparently Wills hadn't held back on anything when he and Sherlock chatted…he'd told his father (that was going to be a difficult term to get used to saying!) about cutting class to meet him today, about the time he'd managed to replace the dead frogs they were supposed to dissect with live ones that he'd meticulously sedated as a prank on his science teacher, and about quite a lot of other things he'd done that Molly had been rather hoping to forget.

Sherlock surprised her when he said, "You named him William. May I ask why?"

There was something in his voice, the slightest catch, which caught Molly's attention. She responded to that hesitation instinctively, wanting to reassure him that it was all right, that she wasn't going to hide anything from him, that she wanted him to know about his – their – son. "You're his father, Sherlock," she said. "You can ask me anything you like about him! He's named after my father and my Mum's dad – William Henry Hooper. Why?" She made another attempt at humor. "Is William not one of your favorite names or something?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose you could say that," he replied, but before she could do more than bristle at his words (what was wrong with 'William', it was a perfectly lovely name!), he lowered his voice and added, "It's just that…it's my name, too. My first name. My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"Oh." Molly stared at him blankly. Somewhere in the cosmos the Fates were giggling their ancient, bony asses off right now. She'd not known the name of the boy she'd had sex with, yet had ended up naming their son after him anyway. The giggle started off small, then morphed into a full-bellied guffaw as she bent over, laughing harder than she had in years.

After a moment she realized Sherlock was laughing right along with her, his deeper chuckles sounding as sort of counterpoint to her own higher pitched giggles. "W-well, that cinches it," she finally managed to gasp out. "No one will believe me when I say I didn't know you were his father before today!"

"I think my brother might accuse you of having dastardly reasons for 'hiding' Wills from me all these years," Sherlock replied between continuing bursts of laughter.

That last comment served to sober Molly immediately, reminding her of all the things she didn't know about this man. "You have a brother, then," she said. "Just the one?"

"One remaining brother," he replied, sobering as well. "Older. Mycroft." He made a face, as if the name – or the brother – was an annoyance. "Our younger brother, Sherrinford, died a few years back." The closed-off expression on his face warned Molly that that was not something he wished to go into, and she showed her respect for his privacy with a simple nod of understanding.

"I have a sister, her name's Grace, she's two years younger than me, married and has a daughter, Louisa, she's two years younger than Wills and they get along, oh, about half the time." She smiled fondly at the thought of her eight-year-old niece. "Mostly when they're not competing over who plays the violin best."

Sherlock gave her an odd look. "He plays the violin?" Molly nodded. Sherlock flexed his fingers, looking down as he said, "So do I."

The coincidences were piling up, the cosmic joke turning into a Shaggy Dog story the longer Molly and Sherlock spoke. "Oh," she said, beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed, then: "Does your brother play as well?"

Sherlock pulled a face that reminded her so strongly of Wills when he found something distasteful that she nearly gasped. "No," was all he said, causing Molly to wonder if he and his elder brother didn't get on well.

She told him about her mum, about her father's illness and why it had taken her so long to discover her pregnancy. Sherlock listened attentively, nodding now and again, and willingly spoke of the rest of his family when she fell silent. "Both parents living, house in Sussex, they're out of the country at the moment but they'll be thrilled…that is, I hope you don't mind if they…" He stumbled to a stop and just looked at her as if uncertain how to proceed.

Molly knew exactly how he felt. "Of course I don't mind. Wills is a very outgoing little boy – well, not so little any more, I guess," she added wistfully. "Anyway, he was already so excited to meet you before he knew…before either of us knew." She tried a smile and knew it was much closer to a grimace but plowed on. "Now that he knows you're his father, you have no idea how over the moon he is about it."

"Oh, I might have a small inkling," he replied with a smirk, and suddenly Molly was taken back ten years, seeing the traces of boy he'd been in that smile. All he needed was a messier head of curls and a bit of stubble and a few less lines around his eyes…and all she could see, suddenly, was the two of them naked, in a stranger's bed, moving against one another with a fierce urgency, and felt the blush climbing up her cheeks as she tried to remember what it was she'd been saying before her mind wandered down such an inappropriate mental byway.

"Um, yes, I suppose he was pretty enthusiastic when he met you," she agreed, toying with the end of her braid, a nervous habit from her childhood that she'd never outgrown. "Anyway, all I meant to say was that I'm sure he'll be excited to meet your family…his family…his other family…oh, bollocks!" she exclaimed as she, found herself stumbling over her words the way Sherlock had only moments earlier. She gave him a helpless look. "This is just so…I wasn't expecting any of this when I got up this morning, you know?"

His answering smile was wry, just a curl of the lips. "Yes, I rather think I do," he said.

"Thank you." Sherlock looked confused at Molly's hastily spoken words, so she elaborated: "For not…running away screaming when presented with a ten-year-old miniature version of yourself. For not accusing me of anything nefarious, for not…blasting me for not trying harder to find you."

"How, exactly, would you have gone about it?" Sherlock asked drily. "Taken out an advert, asking for the chap who shagged you at a party while he was high and you were extremely drunk, to come forward and accept responsibility for the child you were now expecting?" He shook his head at the absurdity of the idea, which Molly couldn't disagree with. "We didn't even have first names or initials to go on, Molly; I'm a deductive genius and I can't even say I'd have been able to find you had I known I needed to do so at the time." There was no modesty in his voice, but there was no bragging either; he said the words 'deductive genius' in the same matter-of-fact way she might describe herself as a human being. "The only thing I told you about myself was that I was studying chemistry, and as I recall, that was only in the context of making a rather bad joke about the joint I was in the process of lighting up – and to answer your next question, no I don't do drugs anymore, haven't for years – while you ran about in a panic redressing yourself after we'd had sex."

She felt a flash of relief that he willingly volunteered the information that he no longer did drugs, a question she would have felt uncomfortable asking him but would have done so anyway since it was clear he wanted to have some kind of relationship with Wills – but colored a bit at the bland way he spoke of their previous relationship, brief as it had been. But honestly, what did she expect? It had been meaningless sex, a way for her to blow off steam and for him to possibly do the same. She hadn't exactly asked him his reasons at the time. "Why did we?" she found herself asking, curious to hear his take on it. "Have sex, I mean." She felt her blush spreading down her cheeks but tried to ignore it; it was silly, she was a grown woman who had a child, for God's sakes! A child with this very man.

He waved away her question with an annoyed frown. "Why do you think? You were attractive and drunk and I was high and you kissed me on impulse – something I could tell you'd never done before – and that made you even more attractive. No simpering attempts at seduction, no coyness; you wanted something, and you went for it. The fact that the something you wanted happened to be me was very satisfying to my ego; I'm a man, after all, and when an attractive, unattached woman throws herself at me – at least, when I was at uni and still bothered with things like that – I willingly catch her. Caught her." He pulled a face. "Sorry, I seem to have run into some tense changing problems there. But you understand what I mean." He cocked his head to one side, examining her closely. "You're not hurt by my saying that," he pronounced after a moment, sounding faintly surprised. "Why not? I've been told I'm far too blunt, and I know that I'm rubbish at expressing myself when it comes to sentiment, and any number of people have assured me that discussing intimacy with a sexual partner – or even a former sexual partner – can often stir up unexpected emotions."

Molly was pleased to have surprised him by her reaction – or rather, her lack of reaction – to his spot-on analysis of their shared time together. "Why should I be hurt, or upset? It was the truth. I'd much rather you were honest with me than try to spare my feelings by offering me some rubbish lie about how special our time together was. I have to admit, I was surprised you even remembered me," she confessed, lowering her eyes to where her hands were fidgeting with one another in her lap. She consciously forced them to still, to rest together, interlacing her fingers tightly before returning her gaze to meet his. "I'm not exactly, well, memorable." She pulled a face. "Sorry! That sounded like I was trying to get you to reassure me or something. Forget I said it."

His face was entirely unreadable for a long moment; just as she was beginning to wonder if he was having some sort of delayed shock reaction, he blinked and nodded. "Forgotten. Now. I know you have questions for me; ask away, and I promise to be completely honest. And if for some reason I can't, I promise to tell you so."

They spent the next hour quizzing one another on the paths their lives had taken since that fateful party. She found out that Sherlock lived in a flat on Baker Street, only about an half-hour's tube ride from Molly and Wills' home, which he shared with a flatmate – a former army doctor who'd served in Afghanistan and had been invalided out, who was also a friend of Mike Stamford's – and lived what seemed to be a fascinating and somewhat alarming life. How a son would fit into that life was something neither of them brought up.

He deduced a great deal about Molly without her needing to tell him things, impressing her quite a bit. He knew she and Wills had a cat – fur on their clothing, simple when you looked for it, but who bothered? He also told her quite confidently that he knew she was working long hours in order to save up enough money to buy a house, that she hoped one day to move to the suburbs more for her son's sake than for he own, and that she had no intention of asking for any kind of maintenance from him – but that he planned to make arrangements for just that as soon as possible.

Molly tried to protest, but he steamrolled right over her, insisting that it was the least he could do. "But you haven't even asked for a paternity test!"

He gave her a look (one she would grow very used to in the near future), a look that said, plain as day, 'Don't be stupid.' His next words confirmed her interpretation of that look as he said, "Honestly, Molly, even Stamford saw the resemblance. But if you insist, I'll accompany you back to the lab so you can take a DNA sample. I suppose I'd better do it anyway," he added, rolling his eyes in a melodramatic fashion. "Or Mycroft will be after me day and night until I do."

Oh, there was definitely some animosity there; Molly was curious, but kept her questions to herself. She and Sherlock had been talking for over an hour, and that was more than long enough to keep Wills waiting – and to keep Mike, she thought guiltily, busy with temporary babysitting duties. Right now she needed to get her son home, call her mother and sister and have a family meeting to discuss this unexpected development. Thank God Sherlock didn't seem completely aghast at the idea of having fathered a child ten years ago; however, for all Molly knew his seeming acceptance of the situation could simply be due to shock, just as she knew her own reaction was likely to set in once she was home. The easy camaraderie and rapport she thought they shared could be as insubstantial as soap bubbles, here now, gone an instant later.

Besides, it wasn't her relationship with Sherlock that was important, it was Sherlock's relationship – whatever it might turn out to be – with Wills that mattered. "So, um, should we exchange mobile numbers? Do you want to know where we live, should we be talking about schedules and visits? It's fine if you don't," she added in a rush as she fiddled with her mobile. "It can wait, I mean, you just found out about him today and I don't expect you to make any kind of a decision right this min…"

"Molly." Sherlock sounded slightly annoyed, and she gulped and closed her mouth as she gave him an inquiring look. "Do you always ramble like this, or is it just when you're nervous?"

Instead of upsetting her, his terse question caused her laugh again. "Oh, a bit of both. I tend to go on more when I'm nervous, but yeah, this is me, how I am most of the time. Except, well, worse than usual today. But I think I can be forgiven under the circumstances."

He had the grace to look abashed at her implied rebuke, mumbling something about everyone reacting to stress in different ways as he pulled out his mobile. She read out her number, he gave her his, and Sherlock helped her to her feet, keeping a guiding hand at the small of her back as they left the break room.

Wills was in the path lab, peering interestedly into a microscope while Mike lectured him on the properties of the sample he was examining. They looked up when Sherlock and Molly entered the room. Molly smiled brightly and thanked Mike for looking after Wills. She quickly explained what she and Sherlock needed to do, blushing lightly at the prospect of asking for yet another favor – although she'd hardly asked for the first ones Mike had granted, she still felt she was taking advantage of his good nature. She tried to apologize, he brushed it off, and Wills looked positively ecstatic at the thought of being subjected to a DNA test. "That's wicked, that the coolest thing ever!" he gushed, bouncing around the lab like an overexcited terrier while Molly set everything up.

Fifteen minutes later the swabs had been taken, the tests sent for analysis, mobile numbers and addresses had been exchanged, and Molly was finally ready to take her son home. She was a bit taken aback when Wills turned to Sherlock and said, "Is it all right if I tell people? Or do you want to wait until the tests come back?" His eyes positively lit up as he added, "Or is too dangerous for people to know I'm your son? Do you have a nemesis or an arch-enemy or anything like that?"

Sherlock laughed, a delighted sound, reached out and ruffled Wills' dark curls, so like his own, as he replied, "No, it's fine, tell whoever you like. As long as it's all right with your mother, that is," he added, giving Molly a grin.

She couldn't help responding to that smile, feeling a sudden rush of desire as he caught and held her gaze. God, they'd had sex once, just once, so why was it suddenly all she could think about? "Well, let's hold off until we've talked to your Gran and Aunt Grace," she said lightly. "We'll deal with telling anyone else after that, right?"

Wills nodded, looking a bit disappointed (he'd probably planned to blog about it or at least send out a mass email to his friends), but his expression swiftly returned to one of utter bliss as Sherlock told him he could call him, anytime, day or night – or email, if he so desired. He promised to answer any questions Wills might have – with Molly interjecting that maybe he could pass those questions by her first, to which he and Wills both responded with equal scowls but both reluctantly agreed to.

Then it was over, the first meeting between father and son, which had gone far smoother than Molly could ever imagine, if she'd ever bothered to imagine such a thing. She'd expected to live the rest of her life without ever seeing Wills' father again, and now had to readjust her world view to include Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective and deductive genius, as part of her son's life.

Dinner, she reflected, was going to be very, very interesting tonight.


	5. Telling John

_A/N: Hey all, thanks for being so patient. I promise this story and the others will be updated. Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and encouragement!_

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John had finished his shift at the clinic and was reading the paper when Sherlock returned to the flat that evening. "So how was it?" he asked, not bothering to put down the paper. In spite of the fact that he could far more up-to-date information on the internet, he still preferred to read the daily match scores via archaic methods.

"How was what?" Sherlock asked.

John huffed in annoyance. "Your first day driving the Bart's pathology staff spare."

"Oh, that. Splendid," Sherlock replied, shrugging out of his coat and carefully hanging it up. He unwound his scarf as he added offhandedly, "Stamford introduced me around, I had an irritating run-in with Dr. Berringer – you remember, the one who refused to believe he'd made a mistake in the Islington case – and, oh yes, I met my son for the first time."

He smirked to himself as he heard the distinctive sound of a newspaper suddenly hitting the floor.

"Say that again," John demanded as he stared over at Sherlock, who had plopped into his own chair and lifted up his violin and bow from their case.

"I met my son today," he repeated obligingly, his smirk widening at the shocked expression on his flatmate's face. "Although his mother and I had no knowledge of one another's names at the time of our, hmm, encounter, ten years ago, his name is William."

"And why, exactly, is that significant…wait, no, never mind," John said, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair, bemusement and a touch of curiosity – more than a touch, actually – on his expressive features. "Let's start over, yeah? So you're telling me you have a son?"

"Apparently. His name is William Henry Hooper, he's ten years old and somewhat of a fan of mine; he actually enjoys my website enough to skip school and take the Tube to his mother's place of employment – St. Bart's of course – in order to meet me, not knowing that I..." His voice caught and it took him a moment to continue. "He seems bright and looks so much like me it's rather frightening."

He went on to explain the situation as it currently stood, then waited quietly for John's reaction.

It wasn't long in coming, and his first words were so predictable Sherlock could have recited them along with him if he'd so desired. "What do you plan to do about it, then? Are you going to be part of his life now? Is that even what his mother wants, now that she's met you again?" He seemed to have the most difficulty believing that his flatmate had actually had a one-night stand, and Sherlock decided now was not the time to delve into his extensive sexual history, or his friend's head might explode. Why people persisted in believing him to be devoid of experience was a mystery to him; just because he didn't indulge now and hadn't for many years, didn't mean he'd never tried sex at all!

Then again, he certainly had no interest in sharing with John that simply holding Molly in his arms when she'd fainted had elicited some bizarre form of muscle memory; he'd felt a flash of heat through his body and an image of her naked form beneath his had arisen so clearly that their single night together might have just happened, rather than ten years ago.

She'd aged quite well, Molly Hooper, specialist registrar, in spite of the difficulties she'd faced in not only raising a child on her own immediately following the death of her father (although with what seemed to be a very supportive family to assist her) but in continuing and completing her education at the same time. During that same period he'd earned his Master's in Chemistry, battled and triumphed over drug use, and forged a unique and exciting career for himself, but all those accomplishments paled in comparison to the quiet fortitude he read so clearly in her expressive features. She'd done an admirable job with raising her – their – son so far, and the only reason Sherlock hesitated to become a larger part of the boy's life than they'd already tentatively agreed to was because, frankly, he didn't want to be the reason for all that good work to come undone.

He explained that to John, who shook his head and folded his arms across his chest as he said, "What makes you think you'll ruin his life just by being a part of it, Sherlock? It's not as if you plan to ask them to move in with you, or contest Dr. Hooper for custody!"

"They have perfectly happy lives at the moment, John; I would never do anything so foolish as attempt to wrest a child from its mother simply because I happen to have contributed half of his DNA!" Sherlock replied with a huff. "As for moving them in here…" He paused, actually considering the idea, startled to find that the idea of cohabiting with the two of them wasn't entirely an unpleasant one, no matter how recent the acquaintance might be.

"And you're actually…all right with this," John said slowly, for once accurately deducing his friend's thoughts. "Not just all right, but…happy."

Sherlock was about to deny that last part, but found he couldn't, because it was true. The thought of being anyone's father was indeed terrifying, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the thrill that had gone through him at the sight of what amounted to a half-sized, pre-adolescent version of himself standing in front of him.

It was almost equal to the thrill he'd gotten at the sight of Molly Hooper. The girl he'd slept with on impulse, and yet hadn't ever deleted from his Mind Palace the way he had every other person with whom he'd had such a fleeting sexual encounter. The girl whose every detail was inexplicably seared into his memory in spite of the fact that he'd only been with her once and had been doing a bit more than simply smoking pot that night.

The girl – no, the woman – who was once again a part of his life, in the most unexpected way possible.

"I am…not unhappy about the turn of events," Sherlock finally replied to John's statement. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, actually."

John looked surprised. "Me? Why?"

"Because if you hadn't been in my life, become my friend…I don't think I would have been ready to welcome the idea of becoming closer to anyone else, certainly not a child." He chuckled and placed the unplayed violin and bow carefully back on the floor. "Especially since you've pointed out on more than one occasion that I can be a bit of a child myself."

John snorted inelegantly. "More than a bit," he declared, but grinned as he said it. The grin faded as he shook his head, still clearly coming to terms with the idea of Sherlock having a son. "You didn't happen to take any snaps while you were getting acquainted, did you?"

Sherlock pulled his mobile out of his pocket and tossed it to John, who caught it easily. "As a matter of fact, I did. None of Molly," he added, correctly deducing John's next question. "She was too busy fainting with shock for a family portrait, but you'll meet her soon enough."

"Invited her round for dinner, did you?" John asked absently as he scrolled through the pictures of Sherlock and William.

Sherlock's brow scrunched. "No. Should I have?"

John just shook his head, still closely examining the pictures. "I guess it might be too soon, but it sounds like the two of you really hit it off, and it also sounds," he added, glancing up with a smirk, "as if you'd like to get better acquainted with his mum as well."

Sherlock scowled; since when had John Watson become so good a deducing him? Ah well, at least he'd been able to shock the other man when he'd first come home. "If I wish to be part of Wills' life," he said stiffly, "then of course I shall have to get to know his mother better as well."

"I would really like to make a joke about how you've already gotten to 'know' her about as well as man can know a woman, but I'm betting you're about as familiar with the term 'in the Biblical sense' as you with the make-up of our solar system," John said with a sigh. Sherlock gave him his haughtiest stare; of course he was familiar with the term, he simply didn't appreciate that sort of humor. "But yeah, maybe inviting them to dinner would be a good next step, let them see where you live…"

"Let them meet my exceedingly nosy flatmate?" Sherlock cut in, rather acerbically.

John, however, was not at all abashed. "Exactly," he agreed. Then, as something occurred to him: "Have you told Mycroft yet?"

"Not yet, I thought I'd wait until the results of the paternity test come back – Molly insisted," he added, seeing John about to become outraged that Sherlock hadn't simply accepted the truth based on how closely he and his son resembled one another. "And it's just as well, as I'm sure Mycroft would also insist. Our parents will be thrilled, but as I told Molly, they're currently in America…"

"Your parents?" John interrupted, looking surprised. "Your parents are still…well, of course they are, you just said so, sorry." He gave his head a quick shake. "But you never talk about them so I just assumed you and Mycroft were the only members of the Holmes clan still living."

"Oh, no there are loads of Holmes' cousins and some elderly great-aunts and uncles," Sherlock said, shrugging to indicate both their quantity and their inconsequence. "I suppose you'll want to meet them as well, so when we go to Sussex next week I'll bring you along."

John grinned, obviously anticipating this meeting very strongly. "Fantastic!" he replied. "And in the meantime, invite Molly and William for dinner, yeah? Mrs. Hudson will be pleased as punch to find out you've got a son, you know she will!"

Sherlock gave an exaggerated sigh and indicated that John should return his mobile. "Fine, then," he huffed impatiently. "I shall let her know and invite Molly and Wills for dinner on Tuesday. Unless a case comes up, of course," he added. "Nothing lower than a nine, and if Lestrade shows up on our doorstep…"

"He'll be just as tickled as Mrs. H to meet your son and his mother," John concluded for him. He chuckled and picked up his paper from the floor. "Wow. Sherlock Holmes, a dad." He shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day. 'Married to your work'…" he stopped and guffawed, much to Sherlock's irritation. "Well, since St. Bart's is part of your work now, and Molly is a pathologist there, I suppose it's only logical that she'd be the mother of your son." Still chuckling at his own (overinflated) humor, he went back to scanning the football scores, and Sherlock busied himself sending a text to Molly, issuing the suggested dinner invitation. Then he supposed he'd better show Mrs. Hudson the photos of William and fill her in on the situation.

He sighed. His life had just become infinitely more complicated, and yet, as John had so accurately pointed out, he still felt rather happy about it.


End file.
